Coherent Contradiction
by zealous-obsession
Summary: Paige is confused but can't do anything about it. She wants sympathy but doesn't. She wants the truth but knows she won't be able to handle it. Let's just face it. She'll need a therapist within the next few years...
1. In My Mind

Who am I? Who the hell is Paige Matthews? I know who she is. She's an annoying little twit who can't make any decisions for herself. She has to ask others opinions, which thoroughly annoys them, so they begin to pull away from her. Everyone is pulling away from me, but I can't say anything-I can't ask them for anything, I can't ask them why or how... That'll just make them run faster. That will make them abandon me. But why must I prolong the inevitable? They're going to leave me anyways. I might as well leave them alone. I might as well just enjoy their presence without verbal communication or any communication, for that matter.  
  
Phoebe sits right next to me, her face lit up by the television. Phoebe, do I annoy you? I know that's a very stupid and pathetic question. I just need to know. But I don't want to... I can't handle the truth. Do I annoy you? Do you want me to stop talking to you altogether? I'll leave if you want me too... You can have my room... You can even have that dress of mine you like so much. You can keep it.  
  
Look at me, Phoebe! Smile, tell me how much you love me! Tell me how much you love my company, or tell me how you would miss me if I were to leave forever. Tell your sister you need her as much as she needs you.  
  
Or just watch tv and not read my mind. Does she know how much I act around her? Does she have the slightest idea how much thought goes into every little thing I say to her? That I go through about 20 different versions of 'hello' when I hear her coming downstairs first thing in the morning? I could never tell her. I don't want her sympathy, her cliché words that would automatically be the best response to something like that.  
  
Of course, I love you. Paige! I will always be here for you! Really Phoebe? Well, then can you tell something is wrong? You should know without me having to tell you. Damn you, Phoebe.  
  
Damn you too, Leo. You pretend to like me. You think I don't know, that I can't tell. How can you not know that I know? I barely even look at you anymore. I've forgotten the color of your eyes. The only reason I know Phoebe's eye color is because I look at her when she's not looking at me. I just find myself staring at her, wondering what's running through her head. I don't even realize that I'm doing it anymore. That is, until she sees me staring and smiles.  
  
Piper. Where do I begin? You care too much. I find you just looking at me. I say 'What?" to you at least five times a day. You just smile and return my silly dirty look, maybe sticking out your tongue at me. You confuse me the most. Why do you care? It's all an act, isn't it? You don't know why I've been a bit standoffish lately, so you're looking for more attention. Not because you want it, because you need it. You need me to sympathize with you when you repeatedly tell me about your cold or your headache. Poor you, Piper. Poor fucking you. 


	2. Smack Me

I know what's wrong with me. I'm a pushover. I'm a fucking pushover and everyone knows it and don't want to be around me because of it. If I could only see the vibes I give off. I imagine them as a misty puce, a fog around me, warning everyone not to get too close. It's my own damn fault no one likes me. I act fake around them so they are forced to do the same or avoid me altogether.  
  
Why am I such a pushover though? Is it because people don't like me or is it just. because? All I know is that I can't change it. No matter how hard I try, I'm either a pushover or I'm a fake.  
  
I tell myself to say what I really want to and if and when I do, I put a fake action or tone to it. It's just not me. Maybe I am just a pushover and there's nothing that can be done about it.  
  
I like to watch people, analyze them and what they say, do, or how they act. I see people being annoying or not sticking up for themselves and I just want to smack them. I want to smack myself. Being one of those people would just kill me. I'd rather not 'be' at all than live like that. It just makes me sick. I strive to be as real and true to myself as I can, but always lapse into fakeness.  
  
I want to be liked... I just want to be liked... needed... anything. I want sympathy without anyone feeling bad for me. I want an injury so people will come see me, but they have to laugh and be sarcastic and... It'll just never happen. I can't imagine getting deathly ill and having people swooning over me... My stomach turns just thinking about it. But I want that sort of attention... but I don't. I'd die if I were the center at attention because I know I'm not interesting enough to have that. I would never survive.  
  
Piper is staring at me again. Stoppit, Piper.  
  
Fine, I'll bite.  
  
"What?" There it is, that shrug and smirk. I squint at her, wrinkling my nose. She does the same, but doesn't break eye contact. I'm the one to look away. It's like if I look at her like that too long, she'll figure out something about me that I don't know.  
  
Why must she do that? She knows I like the attention and the dirty look thing is amusing, but why? Is she trying to read my mind? I hope she does. I want her to know what's going on in my head so she can help me get over it.  
  
Help. I don't want it. Too much attention. Just go away.  
  
A/N: Ah, lack of sense-making. *sigh* 


	3. Shower

Too hot! Ugh. The knob squeaks as I turn the hot water down a bit and resume my position on the floor of the tub, knees pulled up to my chin. Air swooshes into my lungs through my lips. Shush... Don't be too loud. Sobs rip through me, diluted tears drip down my face, some dripping onto my bottom lip and into my mouth. My nose is runny too, but no matter. Everything will wash down the drain. Away, away.  
  
There's a nice big bruise forming on my knee. I think I walked into something.. I forget. I love bruises. I think they are so interesting and kind of beautiful. They're kind of like memories you can only hold on to for so long until they turn from purple or black, to brown, then finally to yellow, slowly fading away. Just like my tears down the drain.  
  
Forget about it, Paige. It doesn't matter. She's probably just having an off day... But maybe not. Maybe this is the last straw and I have finally hit a dead end with Phoebe. I've annoyed her beyond reconciliation. I could always ask her. Hey, uh, Pheebs? Do I irritate you? Oh, no reason. I was just wondering...  
  
Yeah, right Paige. I sob a bit more, stopping briefly when I get a little too worked up, my voice getting caught up in it. Don't be too loud. They'll hear you and knock, asking what's wrong.  
  
They should know.... I want them to know. Maybe they'll try and tell me if I am being annoying or something, like that time I was pretty sure what I was going to say was obnoxious and it was and Phoebe just looked at me and told me to shut up, a soft smile on her face. I couldn't help but smile back. I did deserve it, after all.  
  
Oh, shit... Is someone coming? Stop crying. Right now. There is no dull pound on the door. Whoever it was was just passing by. I might as well get out of the shower anyways, or they'll suspect something.  
  
Wow. I think this is the most awfully pathetic I have ever looked. My eyes are so red and my nose and cheeks as well...  
  
The hallways is empty. Good. My damp feet slap a bit on the hardwood, carrying me to my room where I close and lock the door. That was close.  
  
"'Night, Paige!" Phoebe's voice echoes down the hallway from her room.  
  
My voice is clear and unwavering in reply, "Goodnight, Phoebe!" 


	4. Sorry, Hunter

A/N: I've decided that in this fiction, magic plays no part whatsoever so it isn't necessary for the Charmed Ones to have them. So they don't. And Piper and Leo are married without a child or any on the way. Cole is also long gone, because again, he would just detract from the main idea of this story. Got it? Good.  
  
I should've been straight with him from the start. I just had to drag things out, for some reason, avoiding saying 'no', so as not to hurt him. I just made things much harder than they had to be. I really messed up... He even spent his money on me-a necklace. He bought it when he went on a vacation. Before he had the chance to give it to me when he came back, I had broken down, almost to tears, because I didn't know what to do.  
  
I shouldn't have gone to the club that night... There weren't enough people there to blend in with, so the people who were there became all buddy- buddy. I shouldn't have flirted with him, I shouldn't have let him drape his arm around my shoulder--- I shouldn't have let him touch me at all. I wish I had kept to myself that night. He just seemed so sweet and sincere.  
  
The following day I couldn't get him out of my head. I was all distraught, thinking he might not call or something. Now, I don't even think I wanted him to call. I'm happy I didn't kiss him. That would've made things much harder. But oh, how I wanted to kiss him.  
  
Why didn't I just go out with him? I didn't want that, that's why. Everyone told me I should just say yes. I pretty much did a few times, but vaguely enough that it could be ripped back, if needed. And it was. It was ripped back from him-- I can still see his smile fading. All of those empty promises I made to him... I wasn't honest with him, let alone myself.  
  
Fuck me. Fuck me and my stupidity. I should have been straight with him; with myself. He deserves all of the sympathy, but I cry anyways so the sympathy is thrown at me. I don't need it. I need a nice big smack, is all.  
  
Guilt has always been my biggest burden, though. It's not that I've killed someone for revenge or anything. I would never do something like that. I don't even know the reason for most of this guilt, besides him, but there is no way I can think of to apologize for the havoc I've rot him. I'm not sure if he's moved on, but I hope he has so I can throw a big chunk of this guilt away. I guess I care about him more than I thought I did.  
  
I've lost more weight. I don't want to lose any more, although I can't help but smile as the pounds just fall off. I know I'm not fat, but I could loose a little on my thighs. The thing is, I'm not even trying to loose anything... I don't want to weigh less, I just want more muscle-I haven't been trying to be thinner. I guess my eating habits have changed a bit, meaning eating is less of a priority than it used to me. I need to eat a box of doughnuts or something. But doughnuts are too sweet. How about a bag of chips then? Hmm. Sour cream and onion. That'd be good right about now. Are there any in the house? I might as well go check.  
  
Hey, look! It's my dearest Piper! She hasn't noticed me. I guess I'll just leave her alone. The bag crinkles as I take it down from the cabinet. It's a nice new bag, still full of air, nice and plump. Piper whips her head around, sighing in relief as she sees me. She turns back to her book, saying absently. "You scared me, Paige." It was almost like she was talking to herself, so I just leave the room with my bag of munchies, feeling slightly unwanted. It's around midnight and I guess she doesn't want any company. Fine.  
  
I smile at the chip between my thumb and forefinger, little green bits and a soft white powder dusting it. The crunch of it between my teeth is satisfying.  
  
Half an hour later, I snap out of my trance, finding myself fishing around in an almost empty bag of my good ol' sour cream and onions. I carefully roll the top down and tuck the bag in the top drawer of my dresser, it crinkling gently in protest. I'll finish those tomorrow morning.  
  
A/N: Harper, this whole thing is based on the stuff in my head-my feelings et cetera. So yeah, I do feel like this sometimes. It does suck. It's all up and down, really. Yeah. Anyways...  
  
Trunks Ichijouji, I know that chapters are very, very short and that is kind of... unsatisfying, but I am writing things as them come. I don't want to force anything like I did with the story that kind of died. I don't want this one to rot along with it.  
  
Thanks everyone for reviewing. It means a lot. I'll just leave it at that before I start rambling.  
  
One more thing, I now have more respect for angsty stories. I realize now that quite a few of them actually have some history with the writer. Woo! 


	5. A Little Poem

A/N: Mmm... poem.  
This mask I wear, it is never fully removed  
Only pushed aside a bit, letting people see a fragment of me  
This mask I wear, it makes me act  
It makes me become someone I'm not  
It's that little bit of security that I just can't let go  
My baby blanket, worn thin and much too small  
It should be boxed away for good, only to be pulled out and smiled upon  
It should be associated with ignorance  
A piece of the past, a token of infancy  
Remembered but not brought back  
I'm living a masquerade, I can't seem to stop  
I want to escape it, to run and find myself  
But I can't handle being without it--  
My mask.  
I want to be liked, loved, wanted, needed  
I want these things to come easily  
I fight for both sides, masked and unmasked  
I am a traitor to myself and the fraud--  
That mask.  
The disguise, unlike the blanket, is no comfort  
I don't want it to cover me, I want to show through  
I just can't face the evils, the mocking, the uncertainty  
"I am human and I need to be loved  
Just like everybody else does."  
I have removed this mask before  
But insecurity crept back, melting away any confidence  
Confidence that I had worked so hard to gain  
Revealed I become strange  
It scares people off; they never return  
I want to be innocent and ignorant to the hate  
I don't want to hear the rumors, the gossip  
I can't banish the thought of them being spread about me  
I am beautiful, honest, trustworthy, and amusing  
But the mask hides all, both good traits and bad  
It cannot determine the difference between the two  
A mask masks all, both respectable and appalling  
With a mask I cannot win  
Without it, I don't believe I can. 


End file.
